A Harbor in the Tempest
by stophookingatmeswan
Summary: A series of Captain Swan one-shots
1. Bed Head

A smuffy (mostly fluff) story inspired by Season 6 set pics of Killian's shorter hair

Those first few nights, home and in their bed - and, most importantly _in her arms_ \- he was restless. Tossing, turning, taking forever to fall into a fitful slumber. He'd wake up with the sheets twisted around his ankles, a wild look in his eyes and hair sticking up as if he'd been trying to pull it out in his sleep.

She would coax him into her arms, lay his head on her chest and run her hands over his hair to put it back in place. Hair that she'd seen snarled and matted with his own blood, spilled at the will of a vengeful god, and soaking the strands that now slipped through her fingers like silk.

He sat on a chair in the kitchen, a towel fastened around his neck. Freshly showered and beard tamed, he chuckled and pulled one of her hands to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of it. The prickliness of his scruff scraped, but she didn't mind.

"I can hear your nerves, love. Stop thinking about it and just do it."

She bit her lip. "I told you I've never done this before." She picked up the comb again, running it through the too-long hair at the nape of his neck.

"Swan, I trust you. And, as you said, it would take more than an act of the gods to ruin this amount of handsome. Now cut."

And cut she did. Small snips at first until she became more sure of herself, but still _oh, so careful_ as she folded over the elfin tips of his ears to trim around them. He'd wink at her or cock an eyebrow, willing her to smile, but otherwise sat still as she worked.

When she was finished, she walked around him slowly with critical consideration. Not too shabby for her first haircut, but he'd been right - she'd be hard pressed to ruin such a canvas. Stopping in front of him, she bent slightly so they were nose to nose and moved her hands to his temples, sliding her fingers through the strands there and gently tugging to check for evenness. Smoothing back what she had pulled, she started to move away but he caught her eye.

Then it was his turn to bury his fingers in her hair as she slid onto his lap, their kiss slow and deep. The towel was the first to go, a sprinkling of dark hair littering the floor even more. Then it was her sweatshirt and his bottoms, her panties and his boxer briefs. Rocking together in the moonlight, she draped her arms around his neck, running her blunt nails through his shortened hair as he moved inside her.

She came with her back arched so much her blonde tresses tickled his thighs, his name on her lips and tears she couldn't explain stinging her eyes. He followed, whispering an oath of his love in the moonlight. He l _ooked_ the same now, _felt_ the same but _they_ were different.

Better. Stronger. Together. _Forever_.


	2. The Day Has Eyes, The Night Has Ears

He heard her before he saw her.

"Ruby, I know I need to get over him, but is a man-bashing night out where we get drunk, talk shit and flirt with bar cretins really the best idea?"

It was damn close to how he felt getting dragged along to another one of Will's embarrassingly juvenile Bros Before Hos outings now that his friend was single once more after three whole weeks of dating the same woman. Not that Killian Jones was above drinking, trash talking or flirting that on occasion turned into a one-night stand. But as he got older - closer to the ripe old age of 23 - the cycle of beer and broads was losing its luster.

His face brought plenty of attention; his charm and accent even more. He wasn't short on potential women, but he was short on patience watching even his closest friends play a game of cat and mouse week after week.

Killian turned toward the scoffing tone, but all he was able to catch a glimpse of in the crowd were blonde curls and a red dress being towed behind dark hair featuring crimson tips and a black miniskirt paired with dangerously high heels.

He heard her before he saw her.

Midnight karaoke brought all manner of musical taste and singing talent to the stage, fueled by liquid courage. Killian had already winced through a pack of carbon copy frat boys wearing polo shirts and Sperrys yell their way through Flo Rida's "My House," Will's rendition of Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" as he made eyes at Miss Good Enough For Right Now in the front row, and some poor sap who was booed off the stage for trying to bust out with some Justin Bieber. He was just about ready to slap Robin on the shoulder and bid him a good night when the fourth performance was underway when the lyrics stopped him.

 _Am I gonna miss you?_

 _Hell no!_

 _Baby watch me up and go_

 _Mama said that the boys like you_

 _Never work out anyway_

 _My girlfriends say are you gonna be sad_

 _If he calls you up, you gonna take him back?_

 _I said Hell no, oh Hell no!_

Her voice was slightly off-key and just a touch too loud, tinged with alcohol and anger, but Jesus, _that face_. And that body. He tore his eyes away from her to survey the crowd. Her fellow scorned women held their cocktail glasses up in solidarity and almost every man in the place, whether they had a lady by their side or not, was giving her the once-over.

Not that he could blame them. He turned his attention back and let his eyeballs take their fill. The whole package was certainly nice – the hair and the tight dress that left little to the imagination. Toned arms, shapely calves and, as she turned to the side, an ass he wouldn't mind getting his hands on. But it was the smile that she shot her friends when the song was over and the way she threw her head back and laughed when the crowd cheered that had him wanting more.

He heard her before he saw her.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

Killian was outside the bar getting some air and waiting for his Uber. Robin and Will had offered to drop him off at the apartment they shared on their way to an after party with two girls they'd met. Neither in the mood to extend his night, nor be a third wheel, he told them he would get his own ride. He'd been outside for twenty minutes waiting on a driver who swore he'd only be ten when he heard the commotion.

"Emma, come on. I just want to talk."

Killian peeked around the corner of the alley and saw her standing by the side door with a man.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"I gathered that based on the fact that I've left you twenty voicemails and you can't be bothered to return my calls. Or my texts." The guy's voice was getting louder. "And now I find out that you're out with your friends at a bar, letting assholes buy you drinks. What – are you going to go home with one of them? Fuck around on me?"

Her laugh was loud and held no warmth or humor. "I'm fucking around? Me? When I caught you IN BED with your professor's teaching assistant?"

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" His fists were clenched, face red as he screamed, taking a step too close to her for Killian's liking. What sealed the deal was when she went to walk away and that fucker grabbed her arm and spun her to face him, grabbing her face. Hard.

"Hey!" Killian's voice boomed in the alleyway, but before he could make it even halfway to them to intervene, the guy was on the ground, wheezing and gagging with her standing over him.

"Listen, jackass. I don't know how your dick accidentally falls into a vagina that isn't attached to your girlfriend, but I'm not buying that or any other of your bullshit. I don't care if you walked in on me blowing a group of guys in the bar bathroom. What I do is none of your damn business because I broke up with your stupid ass. Got it? We are not together. Don't call me. Don't text me. And if you ever touch me again, you won't be choking because I punched you. You'll be choking because I ripped your balls off and shoved them down your throat."

The side door of the bar opened and her friends spilled out into the narrow space. They crowded around her, worry turning into oaths of relief when they saw the figure prone across the narrow space. As they ushered her inside, she turned back to him just for a split second.

He heard her before he saw her.

"Thanks for trying to help back there."

The curls were now up in a ponytail, eye liner and mascara a little worse for the wear.

"I heard the commotion from the street. It looks like you had things pretty well handled."

She leaned against the wall, blowing out a breath. "Yeah, I'm used to taking care of myself. Kind of a 'nobody saves me but me' thing."

"I can see that. Quite impressive, actually."

She shrugged. "Comes with the territory."

She didn't elaborate and it made his blood boil to think that lout still wheezing in the alley had put his hands on her before, even if she could handle herself.

"Do you often just barely miss the opportunity to be someone's knight in shining armor or do you often lurk in the dark?"

Killian scratched behind his ear. "Uh, no. I'm afraid I was stood up by my Uber driver." He took out his phone and checked his notifications. "Neal with the 4.6 rating was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago."

"Oh, shit. I'm so sorry."

He looked up, confused as to why she'd be apologizing.

She gestured to the alley. "I kind of kicked your driver's ass. Although now it makes sense how he found me here. He must have seen my car parked in the lot. Come on, I'll give you a ride."

Killian started to follow, then stopped. "I don't mean to, um – thank you, but you were just accosted by someone in a dark alley. Shouldn't your stranger danger level be on high alert?"

She turned to face him. Her heels were so high they were eye-to-eye, blue to green. She stuck out her hand.

"Emma Swan. You're Something Jones."

He cocked an eyebrow, surprised, as he took her hand and shook it. "Killian. I'm certain if we'd met before, I would have remembered, lass."

Emma jutted her chin in the direction of the parking lot and started walking again. "Your friend Will enjoyed a weekend at my apartment once."

"Excuse me?" He felt like a puppy trotting after her.

"My friend Ruby hooked up with him last winter. You came to pick him up at our apartment and introduced yourself to her." She gestured to a yellow VW Beetle. "This is me."

She unlocked his door, then walked around to get in the driver's seat. Heels were unceremoniously kicked off and tossed over her shoulder into the back seat as he gave her directions to his apartment.

"How did you know it was me?" The thought that he'd been a few feet away from Emma Swan months ago was both intriguing and maddening.

"The accent. Not a whole lot of English roses transplanted into a depressingly small college town outside of Boston." She turned the car on and checked her side mirror, pulling out into traffic. "And your ass."

" _What?"_ He turned to look at her. She was grinning, eyes on the road but illuminated by the reflection of headlights in the rearview.

"What do you mean, _what_? The accent is hot. I may or may not have peeped out the window to see if the face matched, but all I caught was you walking away."

He caught the flirty tone in her voice and looked her face over carefully to avoid being the second idiot whose ass she kicked in the wee hours of the morning.

"Is that so? Well, now you've had a look at the goods, darling. Like what you see?"

She pulled her eyes from the road for a split second, made a show of looking him over and didn't say anything for a moment. It was unnerving and he rubbed suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The way she said it made it sound both intriguing and like a challenge.

Killian looked out the window as she pulled up to his building, wishing he lived four towns over just to be able to spend more time in her presence. Looking back at her, he cocked his head.

"Perhaps I would." He unfolded himself from the confines of her car and leaned back in the door. "Thanks for the ride."

Emma gave him a little wave.

He closed the door and headed up the walkway to the lobby door, willing himself to keep cool and not turn back around to watch longingly as she drove away.

He heard her before he saw her.

"Buy me a drink, sailor?"

A veritable hurricane of blonde, boots and red leather hurled itself onto the bar stool next to him.

Killian leaned over and dropped a kiss on her cheek, humming when she turned his head and pressed her lips to him. The kiss went from chaste to filth, ending all too soon for his liking.

"Easy, tiger. We have all night for that." She signaled to the bartender, ordering a rum and Coke – his influence – and turned toward him, sliding her knees against his as she took over the footrest on his bar stool. When her drink came, she raised her glass to him. "Happy anniversary."

Killian chuckled, clinking his own glass against hers.

"To many more."

As she drank, he slid his hand over the small velvet box in his pocket. _To many, many more._


	3. A Love That Blinds

Huddled by a bonfire built to enormous heights and with all the guys taking turns quoting Tom Hanks in _Castaway_ – _"I have made fire!"-_ Emma Swan swiped through the day's pictures on her phone. She was the unofficial group photographer, always snapping candids and huddling everyone together for a picture.

If someone had told her two years ago when she was standing on the doorstep of the Nolan home in Storybrooke that this was it, this was her forever, she wouldn't have believed them. Too many homes and too many broken promises. too many _what ifs_ and _if only we coulds_. She'd had nothing but a backpack holding some clothes and a small box that contained tokens and what Emma had always considered the totality of her sentimentality.

But now she had a family. Friends. A motely crew, really. Regina and Robin, polar opposites but they somehow bridged the gap between her big city dreams and his love of the outdoors to make it work. Ruby, the wild child. Belle, the bookworm. Mulan and Aurora, newly minted as a couple. David, Emma's brother, and Mary Margaret. She wore a small promise ring because even at the age of eighteen, they both just _knew_.

Recently, the group had been reduced by one. Neal's infidelity had not only cost him his relationship with Emma three months before but the one with his friends as well. Even though he'd been in the group since middle school, they ostracized him and closed ranks around her. She'd felt broken at the time after two years of being with Neal, so similar to other times when someone turned out to not be someone other than who'd she thought, but her friends had been the glue to hold her together.

Emma had hundreds of photographs of them, all carefully catalogued by date and occasion on her laptop. Far from crafty and with little patience for the pottery and painting classes Mary Margaret reluctantly dragged her to, she'd found a hobby in scrapbooking. The girl who'd never before belonged finally did, and the rows of albums on the shelves in her room were a testament to that.

Perusing her snapshots of the day, sun and sand giving way to sunset and sweatshirts, she stopped on one in particular.

 _Killian._

He'd been there since the beginning, first as David's best friend and then her own. Emma knew he'd wanted more, the beautiful boy with the dark hair and blue eyes she swore could see down into her soul. He breathed and bled devotion, and for a sixteen-year-old who had just found her place in the world it was too much. Lacking finesse as per usual, when Mary Margaret asked about the time Emma had been spending with him, she'd blurted out, "There is no me and Killian" loud enough or him to hear. She'd caught the devastation on his face before he could school his features and expected their burgeoning friendship to end.

It hadn't. He respected she was with Neal and made sure no lines were crossed as they became confidants and competitors; fierce friends that pushed each other to be better and do better. He challenged her to open up and she challenged him to grow up – to let go of the recklessness that seemed to fuel his every move. That didn't mean she wasn't aware of the occasional longing glance or the gravity of his mumbled "I love you" as she dragged him into his room drunk after their last New Year's party.

Now she was sitting on the beach, an extra layer of protection from the chilly night air courtesy of his leather jacket, lost in thought as she ran her fingertip down a photograph she'd taken a short while before. He was sitting on a stump of driftwood on the other side of the bonfire, bare feet in the sand and a guitar balanced on his knee. The rolled up sleeves of his flannel showed the flex of his forearm as he played, the light from the flames highlighting his cheekbones and jawline as he softly sang, she knew, to her.

" _You've been my queen_

 _For longer than you've known_

 _My love for you has been_

 _Every step I take, every day I live, everything I see."_

"Swan."

Emma was jostled as Killian sat down heavily on the log beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She juggled her phone, tucking it up into the too-long sleeve of his jacket so he wouldn't see she'd been looking at a picture of him.

"Jones." She nudged into him and looked up at the sky. "Beautiful night."

"Not as beautiful as you."

To anyone else's ears, it may have sounded like a cheesy line. Killian had been the first boy to tell her she was beautiful. It had been outside their school as they waited to buy tickets to a dance. He'd said it with such conviction, like there was no room for argument. And he hadn't stopped saying it the exact same way since. When she was dressed up for prom on Neal's arm. When her hair was piled on top of her head, the thick black glasses she'd rather die than allow most people to see her wearing perched on her nose during an all-night study session. When she was wheezing after gym class, sweat pouring down her face and arms raised in triumph because she'd beat his personal record for running the mile. When her eyes were puffy from crying, face red after she'd caught her boyfriend cheating, and wondered if it was because she wasn't pretty enough.

Emma turned, looking at his profile in the firelight. Later, she would realize what had compelled her to lean in and first kiss his cheek, then press her lips to his when he turned his head in surprise.

The fear was gone. It was love.


	4. The Princess and Her Protector (Part 1)

"Did you think you could slip away from my stand-in so easily, Princess?"

The voice, dark and authoritative, broke the peace of the clearing and Emma startled, nearly dropping her basket of wildflowers. She looked up with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of surprise in the event he'd brought company along to search for the oft-wayward princess yet again, her face betraying none of the elation she felt inside when she saw he was alone.

Given the task of ensuring Princess Emma's safety and security at all hours, Killian Jones of the Knights of Misthaven had quickly discovered why his predecessors had all but begged the crown for a different appointment. She was prone to disappearing acts, and this wasn't the first time he'd found her miles from the castle, unaccompanied, completely safe and, by the looks of it, wholly unbothered.

Unnaturally broad in armor, her father's chief cavalier stood before her after fourteen days gone on a peacekeeping mission, irritation radiating off of his head-to-toe regalia of servitude that made him more imposing than usual.

"So it would seem, Sir Killian."

Dragging his helmet off, Killian held it at his side, grateful to be rid of the heavy burden and surveyed his princess. Lips pinked and cheeks rouged, Emma lifted her chin slightly in his direction, a rare display of haughtiness. She looked every inch the embodiment of royalty in a furred cloak and richly layered fabrics, hair silken thanks to the efforts of the nightly brushing by a handmaiden.

Emma returned to her daffodils, seeking out the heartiest of stems and relishing their crisp snap under her fingertips. She moved about freely, the drag of her skirts proving more cumbersome as she moved to the edges of the wild flowerbeds, close to the dense cover of trees. Distracted by the task of recklessly tearing her underskirt when it became stuck on a branch after a messy attempt to step over a fallen log, she didn't hear him come up behind her until it was too late.

Straightening just in time to feel the hard, warm lines of him, divested of armor, against her back, Emma's breath caught as a hand came around and toyed with the jeweled brooch holding her cape in place before long fingers curled around her neck.

"It took longer to find you this time, love." This time his tone was softer but no less commanding and it made her knees tremble, as did the light press of his fingers at her throat. "A man could go mad with want."

And mad for her he was. She was his one weakness, an unyielding vice of an otherwise ascetic man. Regimented, disciplined and married to his duties to king and country, Killian had spent years foregoing the pleasures that brought the fellows in his knighthood to their knees: women, drink, the seeking of riches. It was his dedication to the kingdom that earned him the spot outside Princess Emma's bedchamber door and the responsibility to remain her sworn protector.

It was she for whom he risked it all.

The dress Emma had chosen that morning showed no hint of skin, even when she unfastened the brooch and let cream colored fur slip off her shoulders and tumble to the forest floor, and Killian drank in what little he could reach standing behind her. He licked and nipped at the spot below her ear, teeth sinking into tender, lily-white flesh with more force than intended when she reached back, cupping him through his uniform trousers.

"Easy, tiger." The words teased as much as Emma's stroking fingers and she giggled when his hips canted forward seeking more of her touch.

"My apologies," he breathed into her ear with no hint of actual penance, swiping golden strands away to survey the damage, closing his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks when there was none; there could be no lingering signs of their illicit affair. Killian turned Emma, pressing into her bodily against a tree, nose brushing hers just before he kissed her thoroughly and deeply until she was gasping for air. "Although under different circumstances, I can't say I'd be sorry. I'd mark every inch of you as mine. Would you like that, Princess? A little pain with your pleasure?"

The question was rhetorical. Time was never on their side, even miles from the castle, and stolen moments were often rushed. It was during a quick tryst in her bedchambers months before under the shadow of night where an overly eager Killian couldn't untangle his hand from her hair quick enough to avoid inadvertently pulling on it. The sound she made gave him pause and inspiration for a second quick tug, his desire to please her warring with his sense of good form. All of his hesitations had melted away since, unable to give Emma anything less than her heart's desire, even if it was to fulfill her whispered wishes for him to fuck her, _harder, more please, again_ , his name gracing her lips as she fell apart around him.

Less inhibited now, Killian made quick work of lifting Emma's skirts, nimble fingers dancing over the smooth skin of her thighs just above the ribbons holding up her stockings. She cupped his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes, appearing to anticipate what he'd do next. He didn't think he disappointed, either in the fingers that moved to where she was wet and wanting or his reaction to finding her completely bare.

"You'll be the death of me, Emma. Leaving the castle without so much as a stitch of clothing under your gown," he growled, slipping a finger inside and curling it, moving in shallow thrusts until her eyes closed and her head snapped back against the tree. He watched her face, the fluttering of her lashes and the way she bit her lip, wishing for the millionth time he could lay her down on a bed – their bed, if he was allowing himself to dream – and take his time worshipping her.

Neither their circumstances nor her patience lent themselves to that scenario.

He protested when she took his wrist, pulling his hand away from her and switching their positions, sinking onto a bed of fallen leaves in front of him. Emma knew that of all the intimate acts they shared, taking him into her mouth to lick and lave caused him the most guilt. _It's whore's work_ he'd said the first time, and that no princess should be on her knees in front of a member of the king's court. She'd laughed at his unintended joke and made him blush further by wrapping her lips around his cock, taking him in deeply, his protests dying before they could catch any more air.

It was easier to watch - now that he knew she loved giving nearly as much as he loved receiving - as Emma unfastened his trousers, pulling his thickened, heavy cock out. Licking the full length of the underside, she looked up at him expectantly, a challenge in her eyes. She'd been working on wearing him down, chipping away at his natural, bone-deep restraint and Killian smiled down at her wickedly before tangling his hands in her hair and giving an experimental thrust with his generous length. A few strokes of her fist and Emma's hands went behind her back, leaving him to take what he (and she) both wanted.

"That's it, princess. As much as you can handle down that pretty throat of yours." Killian rocked into her, the warm, wet slide of her mouth around him almost more than he could take after half a month's time outside the kingdom and in the company of men. He knew he was bordering on carelessness as his hips moved quickly, a near-rote apology on the tip of his tongue at his boldness until he saw Emma's hand slip between her thighs. His eyes darted between her face and the near-hidden hand, fingers tightening on the golden strands as he raced far too near to the precipice thanks to the tandem work of touch and visual.

Killian abruptly pulled himself out of her mouth and pulled Emma to her feet, bringing her slick fingertips to his mouth, lightly kissing them before swirling his tongue around to taste. She was divine, and he toyed with the idea of sneaking into her chambers that night to have his fill as Emma's tongue worked its own magic on his earlobe.

"How do you want me, Sir Killian?" she whispered, reaching down with one hand to stroke his cock again, a flick of her wrist earning her a grunt as she scraped her teeth against his neck and down to the juncture of his shoulder where she sucked lightly. It was a far contrast to the force she'd bestowed upon his inner thigh just hours before his cavalry had suited up and rode out a week before, leaving a purple bruise just hours before he suited up and left a fortnight ago.

"However you'll have me, Princess Emma."

Turning from him, she bent at the waist, helping Killian lift her skirts. They'd long discovered that a muddied dress was one thing, but convincing the queen Emma had tripped in the forest and ended up with a multitude of leaves and small sticks tangled in her hair was entirely another. Perhaps not the most romantic of positions, but it enabled him to slip in and out of her quickly and at an angle that made the most of the waning time they had together.

The drag of him was exquisite and Emma fought to keep her voice from echoing through the forest until Killian drew her up, back against his chest, and slipped a hand over her mouth. His other hand wandered, finding her breast to be unfettered by a corset and he growled into her ear as he fucked her harder, squeezing the bouncing flesh in his palm.

"We don't have much time, love." He spread the fingers that had been keeping her quiet across her upper chest, thumb and fingertips brushing against her collarbones. "Tell me what you need."

"Your touch. Here." Emma took his forearm and guided him, placing her fingertips over his as they rubbed her clit together.

"Anything else?"

"You, Killian. Just you."

This time he let her lean forward against the tree, burying her face in the crook of her elbow as Killian picked up speed, hand slipping off his as the pressure started to build, the angle and depth of his thrusts almost more than she could take. As she began to clamp down on his cock, he pinched her clit and Emma came with a muffled scream of his name. A few more thrusts and Killian followed her over the edge, his own shout louder and less controlled than he'd intended and as they came down from their highs, he heard the unmistakable sound of the royal trumpet in the distance.

Apparently he wasn't he only one who'd noticed the princess had gone missing.

They scrambled to right themselves, Emma picking up her cape and refastening the heavy fur as Killian stuffed himself into his pants and pulled his armor back over his head. The fear of getting caught was real and justifiable, and he would have been completely overwhelmed by it had he not caught her watching his hands smooth the front of his trousers in an attempt to hide his still-slightly engorged length with interest.

He shook his head at his insatiable princess, momentarily distracted. When Emma crashed to the ground wailing, he was caught off guard and moved to kneel by her side just as the palace riders reached the edge of the clearing.

"Sir Killian, you found me! I'm afraid I wandered too far this time and in my haste to return to the castle, I tripped over that log." She gestured as part of the ruse and Killian turned to see the basket of daffodils overturned, flowers strewn on the ground. A young squire was valiantly attempting to scoop them up and Emma thanked him profusely for his efforts as she attempted to get up and promptly fell once more, feigning a twisted ankle.

The riders rushed to aid of knight and princess, averting their eyes at the sight of her underskirt torn just enough to reveal an indecent amount of ankle. Killian took the opportunity to scoop Emma up in his arms and carry her across the clearing to his horse, telling her loudly enough for everyone to hear that if she rode sidesaddle, he'd walk the horse back to the castle.

"I'm afraid I may have bumped my head. Would you be so kind as to ride with me, Sir Killian? So that I have something to lean against should I become woozy?"

Jaw clenching, he agreed, swinging up into the saddle and moving back to leave space for Emma, reaching to help the rider who'd lifted her up. In this position, Killian would have to all but hold her in his arms in order to control the reigns and as they started to ride, she collapsed against his chest, playing the part of the injured and overwhelmed princess. He didn't miss how tightly she had pressed her backside against him and he caught her imperceptibly rolling her hips, making him half-hard once more with none of their companions any the wiser.

"You're impossible," he whispered.

Emma answered him so softly that Killian thought he'd misheard, her ear pressed to his beating heart.

"And you love me for it."


End file.
